Karen Carpenter or a new television? No contest

I have an announcement to make. Today I can declare myself HD-ready. I have conquered my analogue angst and banished my digital depression. Sometime this afternoon, I will venture forth to purchase a sliver – sorry, flat-screen – television (or is it plasma? Or possibly LCD?). It so nearly didn't happen. However, I have been driven to it by the combined forces of Karen Carpenter and Jim Royle.

Let me explain. My small screen development came to a halt about the time the first satellite dishes started to blight the suburbs. Too much trouble, I decided, and I've eschewed all technological progress in this field ever since.

No cables, Freeviews, Ondigitals, black boxes, decoders or Sky pluses or minuses for me, thank you very much. I didn't even possess a DVD player, because I refused to have anything that required something called a Scart cable in the house. (I did have a video recorder, though, and how humiliating when, on a slow Saturday evening this summer, I discovered that the only videos Blockbusters still stocked were piled high, on sale and of the Kung Fu kicks/vixens at play variety, or something starring Steven Seagal.)

So when my ancient cathode ray tube flickered for the last time recently, I decided I could do without a television. After Sex and the City ended, there seemed little point in having one anyway. Apart from the 10pm news and the odd episode of Spooks, I convinced myself that I rarely watched it. Even the critical rhapsodies for David Attenborough's latest masterpiece failed to entice me to switch on. Yes, the penguins are still cute and the herds of wildebeest still awesome, but I can't help feeling that this is Planet Earth exactly as I've seen it before. I have yet to be persuaded that these aren't just off-cuts from previous series.

And how I hated the new, slimline television sets. The small ones were too reminiscent of my PC at the office; the big "in yer face" ones a touch vulgar; 37, 42, 50 and even an 82-inch is on its way, apparently. What was the point if not to create more casualties of modern life – those suffering from "screen envy"?

And how confusing were the advertisements; so many variables. What is Bravia, ambilight, HDMI, Twin HDMI or V Real Viera? Does anybody understand? So best to do without. I stuck a vase of flowers on the table where the bulky portable once stood and gamely listened to the radio or my iPod. Evenings got longer … and longer. I discovered that, when on shuffle, every fourth song on the iPod seemed to be The Carpenters singing We've only just Begun. I began to understand how a goldfish must feel. (I honestly don't know how The Carpenters got there – someone else must have sneaked them on.)

Then, some weeks ago, while staying with friends over the weekend, I caught the one-off, and possibly last ever, episode of The Royle Family. Now, no one can rival my distaste for Ricky Tomlinson, both as an actor and as Royle patriarch Jim. In his repulsive bulk is accumulated all the oafish excess of Scouseland – and, no, I won't be visiting my hometown to apologise. He is the reason that I have rarely watched the programme.

However, this episode, which revolved around the death of Jim's irritating mother-in-law, Nana (Liz Smith), was deeply moving, with a script and direction that gave new depth to characters we thought we knew well – especially the obnoxious Jim. Nana's declining health, her desire not to be a burden to put-upon daughter Barbara and her need to assure her of her love, were poignant reminders of the complicated brew of tensions and affection that lie at the heart of every family, but that are exposed only at times of joy or despair.

Elements of it have stayed with me. The last time that happened was in 2003, following the last episode of another comedy classic, The Office. Millions of us tuned in expecting to enjoy the final humiliation of David Brent, only to witness his redemption through love – or at least finding a woman who seemed to like him. It was unexpectedly uplifting – even life-enhancing. And then there was the last Blackadder, back in 1989, when 14 million people watched Captain Edmund Blackadder and his compatriots following orders to "climb out of the trenches and walk very slowly towards the enemy". Who has forgotten that slow-motion climax to the freeze-frame conclusion, fading into a field of poppies? Who didn't pause and think about what it meant, as if for the first time?

Most of what we are served up on television is mindless, nauseating rubbish; a lot of it base, a little of it brilliant. While originality and depth can still crop up in the most unlikely places, I'll stick with television, embrace the digital future and say goodbye to … Karen Carpenter – for the time being at least. As the Brentmeister once said, quoting Dolly Parton, I think: "If you want the rainbow, you've got to put up with the rain."